The Water
by HitsuKarinluv
Summary: Sometimes love is more like a violent stormy sea than others thought. A colonist in New England thinks about that truth throughout his entire life. AU UKUS


There were times when Alfred sat and wondered what exactly he was doing in the world. He had come to this new land for a purpose, right? What was his purpose?

He had wanted the freedom that he had heard of prospering here, right? But why did he want that? What exactly was he even trying to be free of? What was he trying to escape? What was he running from? Alfred wasn't sure he knew, anymore.

He sighed and tried to tear his eyes away from the very waves that had brought him here. According to his mentor he was there to build ships, to further the advancement of trade, to do a lot of things that Al just found no interest in. Yet, he worked hard, when he wasn't distracted, and tried to be a worthwhile apprentice. Why? Because he was still running.

What was he running from?

He wasn't sure.

Alfred got distracted easily in his line of work. Something about those waves and the endless stretch of ocean always brought him back through his past. They were like a mirror that vaguely reminded him of who he _was_ before receding and allowing him to forget again what brought him here.

Sometimes his mentor caught him staring and scolded him for slacking off. Other times, people who thought they understood would pat him on the back and try to comfort him about something he wasn't sad about.

He _didn't_ miss home.

 _Home,_ he couldn't even call it that anymore; so, why exactly was he looking out into those waves?

Why did he feel like he was reaching for something that was no longer there?

What was he running from?

He had no idea.

Sometimes, he wasn't sure he belonged here. He got constantly ridiculed by the other colonists. He was too young to talk to those who had married and were starting on a family. Just barely young enough to get away with not looking for marriage. But he was much to old to associate with the children. No matter where he went, it seemed, people were bothered by some part of him that he didn't realize he was projecting.

Had it been like that before he came here?

He wasn't sure how to answer that question.

When it stormed, he had to fight running into those waves head first and trying to swim. He wasn't here to die that much he remembered; but, something about the violent crashes on the shore always stirred the impossible urge to fight his way back to the other side of his humanity. Something about those echoing booms made him think of his own echoing loneliness of his home. Something about the flashes of light temporarily blinding him of the present, put him in the past he was still trying to run from.

If he was weaker, maybe those storms would've brought tears to his eyes.

If he was less stubborn, maybe they would've triggered the run back across the ocean to unite his past with his future.

Maybe.

He wasn't sure.

When he reached eighteen, he was suddenly forced to look into his future and away from his past. Adulthood hit him full force and he was almost immediately after placed in a spotlight that he only wanted to escape. He could no longer pass for a boy who wasn't manly enough to take care of a wife. No, even if he was still much friendlier than the majority of the colony men would've liked him to be, his body gave him away as a strong young man more than capable of handling a family.

So, he married and his wife took his focus off of the sea that taunted him everyday. They never talked much but Alfred knew that she cared about him more than most people he had met his entire life. And he…well…he cared about her, too. Just not as much as she cared about him.

He could no longer stare at the sea or think about why he ran. He had no tie back across that ocean anymore, he only had what could've been when he got on that boat. For a little while, he lived a normal colonist life and morphed into society, finally allowing himself to forget everything that had led him up to this point.

Then his son was born, with eyes the same deep blue as the water he still worked by, and Alfred couldn't look without seeing the dark blue of a distant betrayal. He felt plagued by a blue that not only taunted him with the past but reflected his problems in his present and future. The very same blue that he had passed down to his son.

Maybe, _maybe_ , the universe was telling him that running was never going to get him far enough away from everything he thought he needed to escape when he was fifteen. Maybe it was trying to tell him he was stupid. Maybe he thought it was right.

Didn't he know that he would see the ocean and think of England? Didn't he realize that he would always trace the horizon looking for the place he came from? Why hadn't he realized that even an ocean couldn't stop him from seeing it all?

The green in the grass would always be _his_ eyes. The wisps of clouds in the sky the swirling pattern of tea leaves turning the water a different color. The ships were never for trade. No. Instead they were the constant reminder that he could go back. Go back and admit that he as a man, not as a stupid boy as the other seemed to think, still loved a man more than anything he had ever loved in his life.

More than he loved his wife.

More than he loved his son.

And yet, he had run away the second Arthur had doubted his affection. The very day that he had confessed and Arthur had told him he was wrong, he didn't love him he was just confused, Alfred had jumped on a boat and come to a world that only reminded him of everything he maybe could've had if he had stayed and tried to convince the older gentleman

Maybe he had always been stupid and messed up and not meant to belong. Wasn't it messed up enough that he was born a man? Or worse yet it was so screwed up that not only had he fallen in love with a man, but he'd fallen in love with a _married_ man. A married man that had bluntly turned him down. Yet, he was here with a life that many would consider happy, feeling guilty for marrying and having a child.

Maybe all he had been running from was his own stupidity.

Yes, he always picked the wrong things to think, say, or feel and maybe that's what was so terrifying.

He was twenty-seven when he finally came to terms with the fact that he was fighting the wrong battles in a fit of laughter that had scared his then six year old son. He had been fighting for twelve years to forget a past that he should've been fighting to accept. After all, eventually, he would have to come to terms with the fact that he was rejected and stop running away.

He was thirty-two when his daughter was born with green eyes and he was able to see them without associating them with anything lost. He couldn't lose something he never had to begin with right?

He settled into life and finally, finally, found the release and freedom he had been searching for. By the time he was forty, and his son had gotten married, he had almost forgotten what life was like before he truly became part of the family. _His_ family.

The Revolutionary War came and passed and he found a new identity. An American identity. He was no longer held back by a hopeless fantasy and need to go back and fix anything. He was convinced that maybe it was never broken. He had only been a foolish young man feeling guilty over feelings he wasn't sure how to handle. Now, he was a grown man confident in his actions, looking forward to a future that had nothing to do with his past.

Then, years down the road his grandson ran up to him dragging another, more hesitant, young man behind him yelling, "Pops! Pops! I found this guy at the docks and he said his family came here looking for an Alfred! I'm an Alfred and you're an Alfred! Maybe you can help! I don't know what he's talking about!"

The young man took a moment to straighten his clothes and reached out a hand, "Yes, sir. My name is Arthur Kirkland. My grandfather said he knew a man that traveled here named Alfred Jones. I presume that may be you, yes?"

The now old man could only nod, confused by the sudden reminder, until he realized that the boy shared a name with the man he had loved so many years ago, "Yeah, that's me. Why? What're ya here for?"

This young 'Arthur' blinked, caught slightly off guard, "Well, that's…We, I mean my family and I, have come here because my grandfather was sick back in London and recently died. We asked him what we could do for him, what his last request was per se, and he told us: 'Tell Alfred I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was saying or why I was saying it. I only knew that I was scared and confused and that made me angry and I took it out on him when I shouldn't have.'"

Alfred took a deep breath, heart faltering slightly at the boy's words, "Wh-why? Why did he want you to tell me that?"

'Arthur' sighed, "We asked what happened. He wouldn't tell us. We asked why it was so important and he said: "Because I know that that dumb-ass is or was thinking that he did something wrong. That it was his fault. That he took the wrong course of action. But it was me this whole time and I'm sorry for it. It was never his fault.'"

Alfred felt the burning sensation in his nose that meant tears that he wasn't willing to shed so he swallowed harshly and nodded towards the docks, "Thanks but your Granddad was an ass if it took him this long."

Arthur smiled, "He said you'd say that and he said to say 'And you're a coward for running away'."

His grandson jumped into the conversation then, "Hey don't insult my Pops! He's a hero! Him and my dad fought for the independence of this country and I'm gonna be a hero just like him!"

The British man glanced at the boisterous American teen beside him, "You're just a kid. You aren't a hero."

And all Alfred could do was watch and wonder if maybe history would repeat itself. Hopefully, this time with a better ending.

 **Hey! I did this as a request and I really like it! I hope the person that requested it loves it too! Please review!**


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